


A Small Wooden Box Intricately Carved

by drvology



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Evak - Freeform, M/M, fic-a-month, my 2018 challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 03:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drvology/pseuds/drvology
Summary: Isak is back and he smiles, smiles even through the numb tired fuzzy brain.





	A Small Wooden Box Intricately Carved

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and snuggly and comforting, because that feels good to live in right now. Carda is their cat who should be mentioned because reasons. || In 2018 I'm hoping to write 1 fic a month. This is 09/12. Fic for September. [11PM my time, so there A03]

Even's steps plod around the kitchen as he prepares dinner, draggy, feet heavy like he's in knee-deep snow. There's snow outside, early this year and cold, so crisp, would be amazing to drag deep into his lungs on a long walk, hand in hand with Isak.

Yesterday Even liked how it felt to be wrapped in snow, secluded from the world. He still likes it but at a remove, tunneling away from him, helpless to grasp the edges and keep it close.

His brain isn't good today. He thinks it's because he's pushed so hard for it to be perfect, clear, the best today especially. Their first morning here, waking to a real long day about only them, beginning of the kind of stolen time together he lives for, and a marker of so much more. The irony doesn't escape him but he's too tired to laugh.

Mind-tired, which makes his body useless. He hates it but all his coping mechanisms have done is mitigate—he should be glad for that, glad he's not scraping below bottom—but there's mostly numbness and fatigue.

It's bullshit. A ruin, ruined, he's ruining everything.

An engine rumbles and grows louder. Isak is back and he smiles, smiles even through the numb tired fuzzy brain.

"Ugh, I'm sorry," Isak calls as he shoulders into the cabin, arms loaded with firewood.

Even can't jumpstart himself to help, stands in the kitchen area, arms limp at his sides. But his hands tingle and warmth pools in his belly at the sight of Isak, the solid surety, an anchor as he starts to unmoor.

Isak drops the wood on the low hearth in the big, open-concept cabin. "That took longer than I expected. Our box was out so I had to raid the big pile down the lane."

They lit the fire soon as they arrived. After endless kisses, before unloading the car, agonizing minutes past the mind gremlins taking hold. He'd slept in the car as Isak drove, exhausted from the week getting ready for this, excitement and activity and anticipation too high that they'd both worked to manage. Had almost managed.

Almost.

The not quite kills him.

"Whatever you're making smells amazing." Isak brushes bark and snow from his shirt—the snow sizzles on the fire screen—stands hands on hips and grins.

"Good. I hope so." Even nods and gestures toward the oven, "It's a few hours before it's finished," tries to sound normal, be normal.

Isak tilts his head. Narrows his eyes. Smiles and shakes his head and returns to the front door to peel off his oversize sweater and toe from his wet boots. He snags a hoodie and zips into it, grabs another and Even's long, stupid soft red scarf Chris knitted him.

Even stays rooted and his eyes drift half-closed as Isak gets him wrapped in the hoodie and scarf and Isak's arms. They sway, a natural slow dance, and Isak pulls Even in tighter.

Even revels in the pressure, the surround, Isak's movements and scent a familiar, comforting rhythm. It soothes Even, elementally, far far down past below bottom.

Isak snicks a low noise, maneuvers them to the sink-way-in sofa next to the fire. They're curled together and covered in a blanket and Even's listening to Isak's steady heartbeat under his ear before Even really knows what's happening.

"No," he says abstractly, not sure what he's protesting or would offer instead. "We should…"

"Stay right here, just like this." Isak kisses the tilt of cheekbone and sighs. "It's perfect."

Enough of the haze parts for Even to grasp at what he'd meant. "No, we should do more to celebrate. This is dumb—I'm—"

"The reason we're here? Yes."

Even huffs. Isak laughs. Low, affectionate, soaks into Even as a balm.

"If you ask me, this is the celebration everyone wants."

Even grunts.

"It's in all the big and coveted lifestyle magazines and everything."

"It should be more."

Isak shifts and twists until they look into each others' eyes.

"How is this not celebrating?"

Even shrugs. He had huge ideas—yesterday. Earlier in the week. Months ago as Isak did the detail work of planning this cabin getaway. The ideas are still there underneath the lost-signal buzz, but he's tired and disappointed and fuzzy and can't make the words fit correctly and come out.

"You've done so much already," Isak says as Even shakes his head. Isak rolls his eyes, annoyed and in another mood Even would snicker at it.

Now it just makes him sad, sad to be such a drag.

"Shh, no. Listen." Isak is sharp, but only so Even can hear him through the fog. "This week you sent me five enormous bouquets of our favorite flowers. You left me five drawings for me to find—me and you and Carda and how happy we are. You made five different breakfasts in bed, made and sent me five videos counting down to today, made five love song mixtapes each exactly as long as my walk to work. I never would have thought to do any of that."

Even finds his smile again, tired but sincere and hopeful—hopeful because Isak knowing and noticing and kinda teary-eyed at all that tugs at his core, draws him back in, tethers him and stills— begins to clear his mind.

He'll still be in the lows today. But tomorrow he thinks he can blink both eyes open and greet Isak good morning and it'll be true.

True anyway—he means like his imagination and anticipation and excitement intended for this week in a cabin just them, to themselves, surrounded by snow and each other unending each other, to be. He'll gift the small wooden box he found at the antique store, wood being traditionally for the fifth, carved with intricate knots never to be untied, and inside a ring.

A ring he'll be able to ask without haze for Isak to say yes to—yes thrumming in his blood and soul because he knows Isak's answer, knows unasked, knows it's not ruined and doesn't have to be today because they have the rest of their lives.

"How is that not enough, hm?" Isak asks softly along Even's skin, each word and breath a kiss of reassurance and balance. "How is that not everything?"

Even nods and takes in a long deep breath. Holds it until it aches. Lets it out to fill Isak's palm and kisses over that.

"Good." Isak squirms and shimmies them lying down, carving space within themselves for one another, spoons Even so they both face the fire. He yawns and kisses Even. "Five years," he whispers and his arms convulse. "Thank you."

"Fifty more," Even whispers back. _Yes_ , he thinks, all the ways they always tell each other yes.

"Five hundred," Isak ups, hums in his low pleased way. "Now—let's nap."

Even laces his fingers with Isak's pressed to his middle and watches the fire, listens to Isak's breath lengthen and slow, not brain-good today but everything—how it is not everything—everything wonderful.

"I love you." He says after a long interval, can't leave it unsaid.

Isak smiles against his nape. "Yes," he mutters, half gone, and Even can close his eyes and fall asleep.


End file.
